


A Promise You Must Keep

by Val_Creative



Series: Warlock & His Dollophead [12]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bottom Merlin, Canon Era, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Top Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin suffers at the Witch-Finder’s hands, instead of Gaius. When Arthur finds out, he drops everything. There’s gonna be hell to pay for anyone meaning to stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise You Must Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassandra Chapman](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cassandra+Chapman).



> (A very special thank you to my friends on Skype who encouraged this on, even when I was whining, and The Merlin Family as well as The Warlock and His King Network on Tumblr for being a wonderfully excitable bunch ❤ ❤ ❤ )  
>  _Without Cass, this story would never be._ Thank you for being amazing and I miss you so much!~
> 
>  
> 
> Day #12: "fingering"

*

 

There was something awful about the stench down in the lower portions of the dungeons (though, not as low as the Great Dragon chained).

The ground beneath Merlin layered in soft, moldy hay. And beneath that, the chilly and solid quality of the dungeon stone-floor. As it was now pressed to Merlin's cheek where he laid, arms curled to himself.

A rumbling voice calling, calling his name, tuned out because how _could_ Merlin hear anything besides the screams ripping out of his throat?

The last few hours of Aredian's "visits" seemed grey-out and etched in the pain that wracked every living fiber of him. Merlin wasn't sure where all the blood was coming from, but it dried around and in the corner of his left eye. A throb-sore of a cut on his bottom lip that stung and throbbed _worse_ when the tip of Merlin's tongue swept over it.

His body ached steadily after he woke the first time, after blacking out. Merlin couldn't be sure where the worst damage done to him was.

Aredian seemed fond of his __tools__.

It didn't matter what the Witch-Finder did to him. Not anything. Not a single lash of a whip, or steel chain, or impact of bare fist.

Merlin would never confess to sorcery, even if the horse in the smoke had been his doing. He would never potentially endanger Gaius or ruin his chances of remaining at Arthur's side. He was Merlin's destiny.

It wasn't that simple to throw away. If Merlin could be reassured of anything about himself, it would be that Merlin was annoyingly persistent.

One of the guards shuffled outside his cell, restlessly fumbling with the keys as Merlin opened his good eye, staring right at the boots and then the sly face of the Witch-Finder.

Aredian whistled cheerfully down at the broken boy, dangling a pair of manacles above him. He nudged a groaning Merlin from his side onto his back with a gleaming, shined boot-tip.

"Are you ready to confess, lad?"

Merlin arranged his bloody face from its show of agony, letting it fall neutral to the question. He slowly turned his face away.

A disarmingly appreciative laugh filled Merlin's ears.

"...I was hoping for that response."

 

*

 

More spinning haze gradually surrounded Merlin.

The brink of unconsciousness spurred on by continued pain muffling his eardrums and darkening his vision. He _did_ know in that moment that his arms were hoisted above him, slapped on by the manacles.

That Merlin's face felt incredibly warm. Whether by a new course of blood or from the growing fever, Merlin couldn't tell.

Aredian had been called away to Uther, he knew this much as well. The approaching footsteps and a gentle hand cupping under his chin… was bewildering. The Witch-Finder was, admittedly, anything but gentle in his methods…

His name echoed, slipping in and out of haze. Merlin cracked that one, blue eye open, blinking until the image of Arthur's face cleared.

"Merlin?… Merlin, can you hear me?"

Something like hope bubbled up in Merlin's chest and he opened his mouth, to echo Arthur's own name, but only produced a watery cough that shook him from head to foot. The tiny, metal spikes to his manacles pierced freshly into Merlin's wrists, and he winced up.

"Don't, Merlin. Remain still. Let me get you down."

Fisted in one of Arthur's trembling hands, the iron key.

It should have been a clue in itself that something was wrong, but Merlin said very little on the way out of the dungeons or to Arthur's chambers. He had sat dutifully in one of the chairs by the dining table, head lowered as servants carried in a hot bath.

He raised one of his arms to wipe at his face and silently grimaced.

Arthur prowled around him, rage evident. "Gaius is clearing your name as we speak," he said, seething. "This shouldn't have _happened_."

What was Arthur to blame for? He had not accused Merlin of sorcery, had not sentenced him to this degradation and inhuman brutality...

And yet, Arthur had the guile to look _sorry_.

He had _saved_ Merlin. Arthur Pendragon, crowned prince, going against the king's wishes. Would miracles never cease?

Merlin found himself kneeling besides the washing tub, left in his dirtied trousers, and soaking his injured wrists in the mildly warm water. It felt nice. Being out of the cold and dark.

He was aware of Arthur vanishing in his line-of-vision, still angry, and probably still attempting to process the extremities of Merlin's wounds... he almost wanted to reach out and grab Arthur's tunic, yank him down and make _him_ sit because he was making Merlin feel nervous now.

Yes, he had no idea how much trouble they were in for leaving the dungeons, but Merlin was going to enjoy his freedom while he could.

"Will you stop that?" Merlin finally spoke up, still facing away, his voice reduced to a gravelly murmur.

Arthur uttered a complaining grunt. Surprisingly, he obeyed Merlin's suggestion, taking the chair nearby. But did not lessen his anxiety.

But having Arthur so close felt better. Felt safer.

"It'll be alright," came a low, probing observation.

It wasn't—there was no _alright_. The damage had been done already, but saying that to Arthur would have reassured neither him or Merlin.

"Yes, sire," he mumbled, lifting his wrists to examine them.

The pinprick wounds impressed to Merlin's skin were clean and no longer bleeding freely. They would indefinitely scar over. Unless Gaius had a herb remedy to smooth them over before healing.

He couldn't say much for the rest of the wounds on him, or the bruising.

"Gaius probably got held up. I can just—" Merlin started getting back on his feet, wavering when he had one foot up. His vision flashed in bright colors, whitening. Merlin fought for balance, swaying backwards.

Hands steadied him.

"You've really done it, haven't you," Arthur said, grunting.

Merlin let out a groan of halfhearted protest, but did not move, as his world went sideways. The prince of Camelot picked him up off his feet and dumped Merlin on the four-postered bed.

While it was inviting, he wondered how Arthur's attitude would be while experiencing a damp pillow later—where Merlin's still-wet, dark hair matted down on the plush, white material.

Merlin had always secretly imagined how comfortable lying on this bed would be…

It was even more so than he thought. No lumps, no thinness where he could feel the wooden bed-frame beneath him. Just the soft cushioning and the heavy, woolen sensations of blankets. He could feel the thinness in the cramped, tiny cot in Gaius's quarters.

Then again, any cot was a good cot. Merlin was used to sleeping on the hard, blanket-covered floors back home in Ealdor.

Merlin's hand absently rubbed at his left eye, seeing clearer now without the blood. "Dragging your feet around won't make them come any faster," he retorted, but without any real heat in it. When Arthur glanced at him, Merlin offered a thoughtful but pointed frown.

"Then I'll just have to get him myself," he muttered, storming out.

Merlin let out a soft, exasperated breath. Prince of _prats_ , more like.

 

*

 

He didn't nod off during the wait, but heard Gaius and Arthur step in past the chamber's vigilant guards. "—you'll be able to treat it?"

"Of course, sire," came Gaius's patient answer.

Merlin shifted, letting Gaius check him over, as the physician took note of a larger, swollen wound on his shoulder, one along his temple and the colorful casting of bruises across the right side of Merlin's face.

He examined Merlin's pupils and asked about the level of pain he was in and where it concentrated. From Gaius's supplies he brought with him, Merlin's ribs and shoulder were wrapped with bandages, his temple dabbed with ointment along with the circumference of his wrists.

"The bruising will heal within a few days, but as for the head-wound and your fainting spells you've been encountering… it's best that you are monitored for the rest of the day, Merlin," Gaius said, aloud.

He turned to Arthur standing by him, rubbing at his jaw, eyebrows furrowed. "Would you like me to escort him back to his chambers?"

Merlin tilted his head on the pillow, also staring at Arthur for his decision. Honestly?… he doubted that he would make it far once he got up.

"No, he shouldn't move," he said. "Merlin will stay."

Gaius nodded his acknowledgement to Arthur, who nodded back and withdrew from the conversation. The physician gazed at Merlin, sharing a quiet, encouraging smile when Merlin's face looked up at him.

"Get some rest," Gaius said, sternly, making his way out.

"Promise," Merlin said, murmuring to his back, adjusting one of his arms under where he laid out on Arthur's bed.

As soon as Gaius left, as the doors shut, Merlin lifted himself upright—slowly as he could without sending himself in a dizzy fit—planting a hand to the mattress and gazing at Arthur through the fringe of his hair.

"I can move to the servant's quarters now… it's not a problem," Merlin said, with no more than the murmur he used earlier.

" _Mer_ lin, will you stop," Arthur said, gruffly, pushing down on Merlin's uninjured shoulder. "I won't have you making a greater fool of yourself."

He didn't groan at the manhandling, but sent Arthur a frustrated eyeroll. This was getting slightly ridiculous— _him_ a fool?

Really, he should just be _grateful_ Arthur's doing this at all.

The reminder sobered him up. Merlin licked his lips, wincing when the cut over his bottom lip stung at the contact of damp saliva.

"Water," he said after a long moment, choosing to stare up at the ceiling. Merlin added, politely, lips quirking, "Please?"

Arthur's mouth jerked to a little half-smile.

"And when exactly did I become your servant, Merlin?" he drawled.

"I said _please_."

"You should try sitting up," Arthur told him solemnly, handing him a goblet. Water never tasted this _good_ before. Merlin greedily downed half of the amount, not minding dribbles leaking out the corner of his mouth.

If Arthur would have let him, Merlin would have downed the whole pitcher.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I tried, but you sort of shoved me down again." Merlin tried to sound more lighthearted than irritated. He handed the goblet to Arthur, planting his hand on the mattress again and straightening himself to a sit. It was good; he wasn't dizzy anymore.

Merlin's ribs and back ached like a slow, constant burn, but… he would live.

He wiped the wetness from his lips with the backs of his fingers, oddly content despite what had happened. And that went away, when Arthur then asked how he was feeling. A sort of chill passed over Merlin.

How was Merlin supposed to answer? If Arthur wanted the harsh truth: his body felt like it had been trampled by a wild horse, and that Merlin felt betrayed, scared, angry and mostly with himself.

But he couldn't say that. Not so candidly.

It would only have broken the lulling air, the illusion of comfort settling between the pair of them. And Merlin wanted to hang onto that…

"M'fine."

He flashed Arthur a sunny smile, that wasn't nearly as sunny in the effects with a split lip and bloodshot eye and loads of bruises.

"I should be thankful that I'm alive."

"This shouldn't have happened." There was a deep pain, complex emotion, not able to be cloaked in Arthur's voice. "My father should have trusted _me_. If he had, you wouldn't have been… falsely accused."

"I know you wouldn't have let this happen, Arthur." Merlin said, "The king did what he saw fit by trusting Aredian's word. Even if it was wrong, there isn't anything to be done about it now." Merlin's shoulders slumped, feeling suddenly his energy draining. But very much awake.

"I don't want to live my life in hate," he admitted, eyes gazing away. "There's nothing to be won or honoured with in that decision."

Arthur's tight expression softened. He nodded as if in understanding, dropping his weight next to Merlin on his own bed.

"I will never fully understand you, Merlin."

Arthur's hand fell to his, his eyes so open that it gave a tremor coursing through Merlin's arm, but neither of them pull away.

Not feeling he deserved such a look, Merlin smiled wryly.

"…Thank you, sire."

And then, the prince chose to do something irresponsibly _brave_.

Arthur's lips grazed over the bone of his knuckles, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Merlin's skin. And Merlin didn't think it was possible to be dizzy without the sensation of helplessness…

"You don't have to thank me, Merlin."

"No, I suppose I don't have to." He whispered with the barest hint of teasing sarcasm, eyes gentle on Arthur, "You only saved my life is all."

Merlin missed the tenderness, as soon as it disappeared. Like a bone-deep ache.

"Do shut up," Arthur whispered, capturing Merlin's lips in a kiss.

A too-slow slide of Arthur's mouth pressing his. The tenderness from earlier, the very same, coupled with warmth pinpricking hundreds of nerve-ends. His mouth felt hot to the contact, as did the new flush to his cheeks. Whether spurred on by embarrassment or not, he couldn't tell.

Merlin _should_ pull away, but he won't. A wasted opportunity didn't sound nearly as good as a clumsy, sincere kiss.

Certainly wouldn't feel as _amazing_ either.

His lips opened to Arthur's, eyes lidding.

"Doing a poor job of it," he breathed out, swallowing hard when Arthur grasped his knee.

"I can fix that."

Arthur dragged his tongue across Merlin's lips, mapping inside when the demanding sensation opens a gasp from Merlin.

The heated reply accompanying Arthur's throaty growl was reason enough to shiver, to desire more. To succumb. And Merlin does, for the moment _glad_ , Arthur's tongue ignoring barriers of lips and teeth. Merlin groaned at the foreign, slick sensation, but picked up on the rhythm being set. He brushed his own tongue along Arthur's, rolling it lightly against his.

One of Merlin's hands drifted to the back of Arthur's head, pale and willowy fingers tugging into blond hair.

When they parted for a few gulps of air, Arthur's weight dented the mattress further. The hands cradling Merlin's face then grabbed onto his upper arms, keeping him there.

A flash-flare of panic reared up, seizing at Merlin, and he bolted from it. Jerking away, eyes flying open, and landing flat on his back. Merlin flinched when his ribs screamed out their hurt, and screwed up his blue eyes, this time seeing the dungeon. The engulfing darkness, the stench filling his nostrils. Aredian's twisted glee.

He could still feel it… _how the shackles held him taut, muscles on fire, his voice screaming out the red-hot agony of a burning iron poker colliding into his flesh. Aredian spoke calmly over them, demanding answers. Smiling patiently_.

A choked whimper passed Merlin's lips.

"I didn't… please, I didn't do it…" he sobbed out, thrashing when hands came down upon him. " _I didn't_!"

His name being whispered.

The darkness shed out, as Merlin's eyes snapped open. The ceiling of Arthur's four-poster bed greeted his blurry vision, blurred out by tears.

He recovered to himself, slowly, slowly hearing Arthur murmuring soothing words. Registering the concern, Merlin's heart thudded a little less louder in his ears. The tension uncoiled from his shoulders and the rest of his body, bit-by-bit, as Merlin stared amazed at the man in front of him.

"Arthur?" he mumbled.

"I'm here with you, Merlin," Arthur said, planting a firm, steadying kiss between his eyebrows.

A lump forced its way up his throat at the coaxing, as Arthur's thumb caressed Merlin's temple. He blinked out several tears built up in his eyes, feeling _lost_. Feeling the oxygen in his lungs fill them painfully from the ache in his chest. Feeling another sob work against Merlin's control and he bit it down on his injured lip.

"Don't..."

It wasn't an answer either of them needed. But he was tired of lying, of having them infiltrate every aspect of Merlin's relationship with Arthur. Merlin's arm wound tightly to Arthur's neck, dragging him forward. He murmured to Arthur's shoulder, face buried in, "Don't leave."

"I give my word, Merlin." Fingers crawled into dark, unruly hair. "Not ever," Arthur added in a hot whisper.

He lifted his face from Arthur's shoulder, staring wide-eyed. Overwhelmed by the weight of it. The nudge of Arthur's thumb on his cheek prompted him to turn towards it. Merlin touched his mouth to the thumb-pad, opening against it in a kiss, straining the tip between his lips and teeth gently.

"Merlin," a low gasp. The fingers in Merlin's hair tightened a little, but didn't stop massaging.

He keened into the sensation, Arthur's name vibrating to the saliva-slickened digit. He kept a hand to Arthur's wrist, as Merlin sucked and nipped around the skin, to Arthur's nail, tasting the faint residue of steel and of perspiration. He kissed along the arch of the joint, skimming his lips to Arthur's palm.

There was nothing particularly gentle about the next hair tug—Arthur's fingers deep in black, cropped hair—but Merlin's chest didn't clench in panic. He didn't feel _afraid_ of the fierceness in teeth nipping, as their lips clashed roughly and scraped together.

"Mine."

The single word roiled Merlin's insides, warmed him, and somehow roiled his magic under the surface of Merlin's skin. He prayed to whatever deity there was in the Old Religion that his eyes don't flare with his abilities. To prevent even a chance of that, Merlin's eyes shut quickly.

He groaned towards Arthur's neck, as those teeth artfully move, tracing and sinking gently to his ears. To the lobes and the cartilage. Reddening them further than they possibly already were. Merlin almost wanted to push Arthur back, out of the surge of mortification than anything.

Merlin had never been particularly fond of his ears, much less how they stood out from his head. Like they were already done growing while the rest of him still needed to catch up.

"Tell me, Merlin."

His body shuddered when Arthur whispered into one of them, nuzzling. Begging for Merlin's verbal acceptance. It was somewhere between heart-pounding astonishment and giddiness flooding over him.

He answered, every ounce of honesty in Merlin's voice, "I've always been yours, Arthur."

" _Again_."

The laugh that escaped Merlin wasn't mocking; rather, the noise clear and vibrant against the expansion of Arthur's skin.

He craved the telltale hints now, how the muscles in Arthur's arms flew as Merlin shifted above him—the faint moan working out and how Arthur's hot-slick tongue circled his in Merlin's mouth.

Merlin's hands inched across Arthur's chest, spreading flat to loose, ivory fabric.

"There isn't anyone I would trust more, with my own body than you, sire." Merlin tilted his head up, words quiet but eyes smiling and dark, "But are you so bold as to claim me for yourself so selfishly?"

"I think you'll find I am."

Arthur's growl shivered him, right down to Merlin's core, and _excited_. A mouth trails across Merlin's collar and his throat, sucking noisy kisses against him and Merlin bucked into him.

In part, he didn't want Arthur to have him like this—bruised and damaged.

But he felt safe here, in Arthur's presence, in his arms.

Merlin's head impacted one of the luxurious, stuffed pillows in Arthur's chamber-bed. The change in position brought no sudden pain to wounds or ribs, nor startled him. A favorable sign.

His fingers tightened against Arthur's scalp, deep in Arthur's hair as his chest was peppered by kisses and little pierces from the flats of Arthur's teeth. Arthur's hands slid along the shape of his thin torso and Merlin wanted to arch shameless into the skin-hot feeling. Hands so powerful, firmly muscular. Merlin's nipples ached, inflaming with the color.

He tried biting down the whimpers when Arthur blew cool air across them, his bottom lip scraping red.

Merlin decided to arch up, his hips dragging against Arthur's, their legs tangling. Merlin used the harsh grip on Arthur's head to drag the blond man back up, kissing him roughly. Swiping his tongue against Arthur's lips and parting them, earning him a pleasured sound. Feeling Arthur's body press to him.

He grinned impishly against the messy kiss, whispering, "I've yet to become impressed by your prowess, sire." Merlin set a gentle, long bite to the natural lift of Arthur's upper lip, breathing heavy.

"You shouldn't get wise with me, Merlin."

Arthur's calmly-spoken words filled him with more heat, more _need_ than what had already consuming him. Arthur's hand dipped past the band to his trousers and grasped around him. "I can be very persuasive," he said, smirking. Merlin groaned into Arthur's open mouth, pushing closer up into the slight rolling stroke on his cock, and tilting his chin, realigning their lips.

"Mm," he hummed out, grin lessened when Arthur's teeth find his ear. "Go on then." His hands squeezed the hips in his hold.

 _Everything_ happened to be cords of muscle on this man, gods.

Merlin ducked his head back, meeting summery blue eyes and chuckling at Arthur's expression.

"A king is only as good as his promises to his people."

He wanted to touch more than just where his hands dug into the fabric of Arthur's trousers. Touch along with his other senses, to hear, to smell, to taste more than just contours of Arthur's lips and hollow of his mouth. Merlin pushed his hips forward and up once more, craving more of Arthur's warm hand, groaning against a temple breathlessly.

" _Yes_ ," left him, more of a low whine than a voice. "Yes," he repeats, mouth swollen, the cut on Merlin's bottom lip throbbing with exquisite hurt.

Arthur's weight flattened him down, sprawling him out.

He was doing it on _purpose_ , going slow, and Merlin vented his frustration with a short huff of a breath, one of his legs nudging to Arthur's side. He didn't truly understand what drove him more mad: the wicked torment of gentle fondling on his cock or Arthur's teeth scraping to his nipples when—

"Arthur, for gods sake," Merlin muttered under his breath, letting go of the hips in his hold and yanking on Arthur's hair, tugging his head to level their eyes. "I'm not _a maid_ —"

"That's debatable," Arthur said, grunting a laugh.

The hand within the confines of Merlin's trousers jerked little, aggressive movements from Merlin's hips. Skin-warm fingers played along the foreskin to Merlin's hardening prick, teasing it back and letting it slid in place, repeating, repeating until Merlin groaned breathy into his prince's ear. It felt… nothing short of amazing.

Arthur's lips grazed from his cheekbone to his mouth, kissing hard enough to signal how much he _wanted_ this.

Wanted… Merlin? Is that what this was? Were they… ?

Merlin's brain unraveled this entire situation that had escalated while locked inside a body on overload by sucks and kisses and soft bites to his abdomen. Merlin's arse could feel the smoothness of the royal sheets, squirming when his trousers were shucked off. His heart rabbited in his chest, bordering on terror, but _nothing_ like the kind Merlin had experienced in the dungeons.

No, it wasn't not the same. He was scared, properly scared, but it's more about what burned inside him.

That blind devotion, That ceaseless hope. That unbidden love to the man Merlin wouldn't for a second dare to stand idly by and watch die. To let others take Arthur from him. Merlin had killed them when their enemies tried, with colder blood than the ice running in Uther's heart.

If it had been Arthur being tortured in the dungeons… there would be no end to the suffering of the person at the other end of the iron poker.

Merlin's lips released a shaky exhale, and he glanced at his prince who had ceased his exploration, one of Arthur's hands to the flat of Merlin's sternum. "I'm alright," he lied, and such a sweet lie it was, sweetly joining their lips and Merlin whined low into it, lightly touching Arthur's back.

"Yes," Arthur said, urging, frowning to Merlin's jaw. "Now tell me honestly."

He was utterly naked in the royal prince's bed—and Arthur wanted to _talk_? The words formed so easily, blankly, "Why would I be lying to you?"

Maybe it was just him, but Arthur looked far too level-headed.

The hand down his trousers crawled out, touching Merlin's side. Arthur's other hand sliding down as Merlin scooted up on his elbows. Fighting down a cringe of pain from one of the healing wounds. The next breath out trembled. "Don't you feel…strange? How easily this happened?" Merlin asked, eyes wide and blue and honest. Face hard.

Arthur shook his head, narrow-eyed.

"You're not making sense, Merlin."

"Arthur, I want you. I can admit that. But I'm not…" Merlin's dark eyebrows creased. "I'm not a bedwarmer," he murmured. "I don't give myself to someone without knowing it can be returned. You're the prince. And I'm just a servant. What does that mean to you?"

He knew that grappling emotion on Arthur's face. Conflict. Worry and tension. And Merlin hated it. He never wanted to be the _source_ of that.

Merlin eased himself to sit up, not pulling away from him. Rather, he leaned in, determined, leaning into Arthur's breathing space. Merlin's nose and forehead gravitated towards his other half, pushing until he felt skin, golden by the sun. The tip of Arthur's nose brushed his. Merlin's lips hovering near Arthur's. "I can't help you make this decision," he mumbled, longing to kiss him again, but not giving into the strong, glorious urge. "These are your feelings, not mine."

"I don't know." Arthur expressed, touching his face, rubbing his nose against Merlin's nose. "I do know you mean… very much to me, Merlin. You may the worst servant imaginable, but I would trade you for none other."

Despite the insult, Merlin's face—even with its bruised nature—lit up beautifully with an admiring, soft grin. He pressed his forehead with teasing weight to Arthur's forehead, rubbing his nose back and chuckling.

He understood. He did. Arthur's words were genuine and devastating. The air caught in Merlin's throat, as frustration and a sense of grief bubbled in his chest.

"I know. Gods, I know this can't work…" Merlin's chuckle less lighthearted, more strained, harsh. His hands cradled Arthur's face, as Merlin's head tilted down. "It had to be you, didn't it?" he whispered, resentful. "The person I want more than anything. Who I'm destined to…"

"Destined?" Arthur echoed, confused.

Merlin's hands shifted against his cheeks, feeling the prickle of hair there. And then, Arthur's callused fingers gently touched his jaw, lifting Merlin's head. He stared back into dark blue eyes, eyes dry, inquiring and sorrowful.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered, lowly. Another lie, dark and swallowing.

Arthur would marry one day, produce an heir for Camelot. They both knew that.

That same frustration coupled with a spark of anger compelled Merlin to jerk out of Arthur's touch, his hands knuckling together at his sides. "But I don't want _one_ day with you! I want…!" Merlin's voice, once deep and growling, faintened. Eyelashes wet.

He would take any Arthur would give him.

Merlin knew being angry with him would solve nothing, crying and feeling sorry for himself, and perhaps it wasn't even Arthur he's acting at to.

The bed creaked, as a lot of weight shifted, and Merlin found himself with arms clutching around Arthur, mouthing to his neck. "I can't," Merlin quietly sobbed out, and then drew in steady, calming breathes. Trying to collect himself before speaking again.

Merlin's fingers combed into the blond hairs on the back of Arthur's head, grasping there.

"In my heart, I know this. But I will."

 _Gods help him_ , he would do anything Arthur asked of him. Merlin's lips pushed towards the crook of Arthur's neck. "I know what you have to do," he said, murmuring. "And... I won't stand in the way of it, Arthur. Even if it feels like it would kill me."

Arthur shushed him, rocking him gently. "I know it's unfair of me to ask you this." He nudged his face into the top of Merlin's hair. "You don't have to."

 _Unfair_ did little to explain the situation, or do it justice. But he kept his silence for now, wanting _this_. Wanting this closeness between them, without barriers, physical or emotional. Merlin pressed small, wet kisses to the side of Arthur's neck, feeling him shiver.

Merlin arched himself into the other man, feeling him harden. Merlin's mouth opened, teeth grazing against a jut of vein on Arthur's throat.

"Except I want to," he answered.

His hands flattened to Arthur's chest, applying pressure until Arthur fell with his back to the sheets, and Merlin crawled between his legs, smiling thoughtfully down on him.

"...What to do with you?" he mused, as one of Merlin's hands stroked and fingered through mess of blond hairs on Arthur's chest.

Arthur laughed, high and rumbling.

"Shouldn't be that difficult to figure out."

Arthur's warm hands everywhere, a tentative but pleasant exploration. Merlin's hips rocked slightly into Arthur's below him, as he lowered towards him, enjoying the sensation of fingers combing dark strands. "Impatient prat," he fired back, affectionately, kissing Arthur back with enough flame and devotion to heat his blood.

His teeth dragged across Arthur's lower lip. Merlin's hand slid down, teasing with fingertips over Arthur's firm, solid abdomen.

An unsteady breath, and then a loud, stifled moan presses back against Arthur's mouth when Merlin's body was urged on, hands on his arse. He cursed lowly and followed the rhythm, cocks sliding together. Arthur's hands inevitably lost grip on Merlin, as the warlock scooted down Arthur's powerfully made torso, leaving trails of panting kisses.

"Found— _aah_ —a better use for your mouth, haven't we," Arthur said, informatively.

Merlin chuckled, beginning to grin with lips pushed wetly to Arthur's skin. "You have no idea," he crooned, smoothing his palm across the inside of Arthur's right thigh. And then decided to show Arthur what he meant, lips brushing against Arthur's navel, tonguing around the shallow dip.

"Fuck, Merlin," he gasped, bringing a hand to Merlin's hair, digging in.

The shock of mild pain coming off Merlin's scalp aroused him more than he cared to admit. Merlin's tongue fucked a little harder, quicker into Arthur's navel, sliding along the curved, flesh shape. He heard Arthur speak, just barely above the level of tremoring, and smiled to himself.

"Patience is an admirable virtue," he said, mouthing over the dark thatch of pubic hair.

Merlin's spindly fingers grasped around Arthur's cock, running over the foreskin and easing it down. In his hand, it felt heavy and thick. Merlin was no stranger to seeing Arthur naked on occasion, but never like _this_. His lips closed over the flush-colored, gleaming cockhead, tasting bitterness but tasting _Arthur_.

Arthur's voice heavy with lust, " _Merlin_."

Oh, he _really_ liked how Arthur said his name like that. His mouth opened wider, taking Arthur's length in slowly, and then pulling back. He repeated this, gathering saliva and feeling it trickle out of the corners of his mouth. Merlin's hands now over Arthur's thighs, up over his hipbones, thumbing the ridges.

Arthur's legs widened, allowing Merlin to move as he pleased.

But he didn't feel like moving anywhere now, groaning louder with Arthur's cock so close to his throat, a perfect and large weight. "It's hot, your mouth..."

Merlin hollowed his cheeks, sucking a little, before mouthing around the cockhead once more. He chanced looking up, through his eyelashes at Arthur's face. How Arthur's mouth slacked from louder breathing, eyes glazed with pleasure.

"Be a sorry sight if you melted now," he quipped, no longer with lips around Arthur's cock but stroking him carefully, attentively. "The night is young."

The other man grumpily pushed away Merlin's hand, starving off any remnant of an orgasm.

"As are we, Merlin."

Merlin's hands crawled back to Arthur's inner thighs, kneading the meaty flesh. He rocked down again, grinding harder, enjoying the slicker sensation of his own saliva to Arthur's cock making it easier and lessening a burn. Everything about this heady and wonderful, the smell of their arousal, the hot flush of their skin pressed to each other.

"Did you ever imagine this?"

"More often than you might think," Arthur said.

The switch in positioning might have been rough as Arthur flipped them, but Merlin's slowly healing injuries were the least of his own concerns now. He buried his fingers into gold strands of hair, making a frustrated sound through his nose. The friction between them was good. But it wasn't not _enough_.

Merlin gasped, perhaps too surprised when Arthur's teeth worried over a patch of skin, bruising it into dark, beautiful color on milky skin. Merlin's naked leg curled to Arthur's back, helping him press closer.

" _More_ ," came out breathy, high-pitched, passing Merlin's kiss-swollen lips. "More—gods, Arthur…"

Arthur smirked at the pleading tone.

"I'm going to make you feel good, Merlin. I promise."

It took a moment, but Merlin recognized the vial.

Massage oil, oh.

Arthur's right hand lowered, fingers slowly nestling inside his cleft.

 _Oh_.

Merlin shivered, but didn't jerk away from the finger probing him open, biting down a moan.

"Yes…"

"Yes _what_ , Merlin?" The hot pucker accepted Arthur to the knuckle. He teased, rotating his forefinger, "Out with it."

"You're…uuh, such a prat," Merlin cried out, trying consciously to keep his muscles from squeezing. Arthur's finger seemed _big_ for some reason. "I have a finger in my arse, what am I supposed to tell you— _fuck_ ," he swore at a particularly hard bite on his neck, Arthur's teeth pinching.

Merlin's body spasmed, but the dripping finger glided in more easily.

Soft kisses fall in cruel weight against the tender, darkened bite-mark on Merlin's neck.

"Keep going," he panted out, hands starting to claw into the sheets below him. "I—" A sharp, groaning breath left him. Merlin's toes curled and the small of his back arched in when a stab of pure ecstasy flooded him. "Gods, wh—" The little spot Arthur had pressed inside him. Oh, wow. "What was _that_?"

Arthur chuckled, mischief written in his expression. "Something very good, Here, let me show you."

The further sensations were like losing air. Little, soft cries escaped him, at each new thrust of Arthur's finger inside him, embarrassing if it wasn't so overwhelming and so damn _good_. Arthur was making it clear with a smug expression and words that he enjoyed Merlin's reaction and how untried he was.

Merlin showed momentarily frustration, and then renewed confidence when Arthur's lips returned to his, sucking at the tip of Arthur's tongue until it glided into his own mouth. It was enough of a distraction from tensing at another finger slipping in him, and from being stretched.

Arthur's teeth dragged across Merlin's cheek, nibbling on an earlobe, and Merlin almost felt the immediate urge to kick him in the stomach. (Arthur and his bloody fascination with his _ears_!) Whether or not it was sensitivity or embarrassment, Merlin could feel them burning.

Merlin's hips thrust up in a pointless attempt to gain friction, colliding into Arthur. The fingers were nice and all, but it's not what he _wanted_. This time Merlin did react, slapping Arthur's own thigh with a closed fist weakly, groaning aloud, "—gods, _damn_ , will you just— —?"

"You need time to adjust, Merlin."

"Oh, _right_ —"

There was a mild burn to the intrusion, fiercer than the first two fingers, but he wasn't about to utter a word of complaint. There was nothing _wrong_ with the sensation… Merlin just never felt something like this. Being full. Being full because of Arthur and still not getting _enough_.

The softness to Merlin's prick already gone, and Arthur's other hand played around the foreskin pulling taunt, around the tip. He groaned again, the sound muffled wetly to Arthur's perfect, accepting mouth.

Merlin hissed out Arthur's name, nudging the hand on his prick away. His orgasm just out of reach. He prevented it, squeezing around the base and taking deep breathes, laying back against the royal sheets. Felt as Arthur's fingers withdrew from him, leaving him strangely empty.

A layer of sticky sweat already to his bruised-laced chest and torso. Merlin's eyelids fluttered shut. When he reopened blue eyes, Merlin stared up at Arthur, expressionless.

"So you don't want to have it off?" he rasped out, corner of his mouth lifting.

Merlin's hand to his own prick squeezed once more. Making very sure sure Arthur was watching. "Isn't that what _you_ want, sire?"

" _You_ are what I want, Merlin."

A pleasant flush jolted from inside Merlin's chest, heating him.

The barefaced confession from Arthur, though overpowered om desire, swam like liquid-fire through his veins.

"And you are mine, in return," he murmured back, not meaning to voice his internal thoughts, a thumb brushing over Arthur's collarbone. The statement may have not meant anything serious to the other man, but Merlin enjoyed the familiar brush of lips to his, though seconds-long.

Like fluid motion, Arthur lifted his legs, exposing him, nearly folding him. Though Arthur knew better than to put an unnecessary strain on Merlin's slowly healing body. Merlin chewed on his lip, feeling where Arthur's tip parted him. " _Arthur_ ," came out a single, rushed breath, humming.

"Relax for me."

The cry tore out of Merlin soundless, and yet there all the same.

His muscles in his arse clenched, seemingly trying to force Arthur _out_ as he had forced his way in. But Merlin refused it, just as he refused stopping this. Just as Merlin's vision grew from the blaze of white-out, he discovered that his eyes were surprisingly dry and his heart hadn't thumped out of his chest just yet.

"Ggh-…" Merlin's throat worked against him, making it difficult to get the words out at first. Saliva dried up.

He whispered, cracking a sorry attempt of a grin, " _prat_."

The sensation of tender kisses from the other man, across the bridge of Merlin's nose, his hairline, lips, chin, and several more to his brow.

"Now," he whispered towards Arthur's ear, driving his hips up experimentally, and at the same moment grabbing at Arthur's hips.

He slowly thrust inside Merlin's heat, carefully with the shift and tandem-pull of their muscles. Pain crept on him, like his heart beating. But it was _good_. So good because they were human skin to human skin, Arthur breathing and grunting and hitching exhales against Merlin's swollen lips.

Fingers tightened in Arthur's blond hair, scraping.

"Yes," he moaned out, body arching out, color flushing, "gods yes, Arthur—"

Merlin squeezed himself around Arthur buried deep in him. Pleasure beginning to crackle over him.

"Merlin, _Merlin_ …"

Arthur's mouth pressed against his neck, emitting heat. He licked his way down, face just under Merlin's ear. Merlin slipped his hands down Arthur's back, holding the other man as close as he can without breaking their thrusting, feeling his heart racing. Euphoria wrecking Merlin's voice.

But he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out, savor this. And when Arthur spurred on, faster, Merlin lost that hold completely.

When he came back from it, the throes of passion had cooled. Feeling his sweat tacking, along with milky fluid on Merlin's heaving stomach. Arthur's own orgasm jerked and settled, warming Merlin from within his very center. A tiny noise from the warlock's swollen lips.

Merlin tried to fight off the sensation of wooziness, grappling at him from nowhere, and then cried out, squirming noticeably. Arthur licked the dark, blotchy marks high up on Merlin's throat.

He pushed a hand against Arthur's muscled chest, giving a fair amount of space between them, fingers to gold curlicues of hair.

"What is it?" Arthur murmured, rubbing Merlin's naked side.

He rubbed his own bandages.

"Should rest," Merlin replied, sleepily.

"For once, you have a point." Arthur curled up to Merlin's right side, pressing into the line of his skinny body. And Merlin's heart warmed as one of Arthur's arms gently rested under Merlin's ribs, as if securing him in place, as if Merlin's place was to _belong_ here now.

"If you have… dreams," Arthur began, cautiously.

Merlin nodded wordlessly, gazing at him.

"Remember that you're here, Merlin."

 _You gave your word_.

Merlin's lips curled up, fondly.

"I remember."

 

*


End file.
